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A massacre in a warehouse. Unfortunately, such things were not uncommon in Gotham. What was unusual was the way this one played out. One known assailant against at least a dozen False Facers. Even with the advantage of surprise, it would take a seasoned fighter to take on so many.
The footage showed a single man interrogating a Black Mask goon. Even though all they could see was his posture and a bit of his arm, the man seemed young. In his thirties at the absolute oldest. Alarm bells rang in Dick’s mind.
“I’ll call it into the GCPD and meet you there,” Nightwing said through the comms.
“Copy that,” Tim replied. The line went silent.
Dick suited up immediately. He’d been running comms this evening. Bruce was out of town searching for Flash in Central City, and Barbara was busy with college stuff tonight. Alfred was gone to visit with the Kent’s while Martha was ill. Which left Nightwing and Robin as the only vigilantes in Gotham at the moment.
He hadn’t planned on going out into the city tonight, but Nightwing wasn’t interested in being far from the action, not when his brother was going after an unknown man who killed an entire base of Black Mask’s men.
The trip to the Gotham Broadcasting Company building was quick.
Robin was quicker.
By the time Nightwing arrived, the unknown man– calling him unknown man was so much effort… Red Jacket? Red Hoodie? Red Hood would work for the moment– was in the parking garage interrogating Black Mask. Robin was nowhere to be seen. Nightwing tapped a button on his wrist, one that would signal to Robin. After a beat, there was a gentle buzz in his wrist, signaling Robin’s response.
Nightwing rolled his shoulders, satisfied that Robin was alive.
He let out a smug whistle, interrupting Red Hood’s questioning of Black Mask.
“Be right back,” Red Hood said. Nightwing let a feral grin take over his face. He was itching for a fight. “Oh goodie, another dramatic entrance from one of Batman’s little minions.”
Nightwing caught the insinuation that Red Hood and Robin had fought already. Red Hood was lucky he hadn’t killed Robin, or else his own corpse would be joining the countless others tonight.
“Your reign of terror stops now,” Nightwing said. They circled like wolves, moving around the space of the parking garage and sizing each other up. Red Hood’s stance was confident and loose, marking him as a seasoned fighter or an idiot. Based on all the bodies, it was the former.
“Whaddya gonna do? Lock me up?” Red Hood snarked. He wore a mask on his lower face, but his eyebrows raised in mockery. “Ya know, I’ve put a lot o’ guys in their place tonight. Kinda lost count. Are you sure you wanna test your luck?”
Nightwing laughed. “To be honest? This whole look? I can’t take you seriously. Do you villains source your clothes from thrift shops? Is that a thing now?”
“Wow! Fashion advice from someone who used to wear underwear outside of his tights.”
Nightwing processed that quickly. Red Hood knew he used to be Robin, even though it had been years. He also must have seen the original Robin costume at some point, which made him a Gothamite. His accent was difficult to make out with the mask, but a couple of words stood out with a strong Crime Alley accent.
Where had this man come from, and why was he showing up now?
“I see, so you used to be a fan. I can imagine you had a poster of me growing up, yeah? Had it hanging above your bed.” Something like profound annoyance flashed in Red Hood’s eyes. “Look, I’ll tell you what. That mask of yours? I’ll sign it after I kick your ass.”
“Big talk for an old man. Bring it on, then, you’re not getting any younger.”
The time for banter was over, and the battle aura rose around them. Nightwing closed in, fists swinging. He wouldn’t use his escrima sticks yet. He wanted to test the waters first.
Red Hood ducked around the blows. Every attack was blocked or dodged with an ease that was alarming. Red Hood didn’t appear to be trying very hard, even cracking jokes as each punch was evaded.
Nightwing’s foot met the wall instead of his opponent’s gut. When he turned around, a slap took him by surprise. He suffered a couple blows before he was stumbling away, mind reeling. Red Hood was a natural fighter. He moved like smoke in the wind.
“You know, it’s almost like I can see your moves coming,” Red Hood laughed. “Crazy, right?”
Was this a hint to how Red Hood knew Nightwing’s moves? Had they fought before? Nightwing was pretty sure he’d remember, if so. Had Hood stalked him like Tim used to do before he became Robin? Or was Hood insinuating that he was a meta of some sort? The type able to view the future before it happened? That would certainly help him take down two buildings filled with deadly adversaries.
Nightwing had no way of knowing.
The fight continued. Most of his attacks were evaded, but he managed to get a hold of Hood’s arm and flipped him to the ground. The man rolled with the movement and was on his feet without a moment of hesitation.
Red Hood pulled out his sword. Nightwing pulled out his escrima sticks. The fight grew more dangerous.
Nightwing was laser-focused on every move, body reacting to keep him alive. The sword clattered to the floor after a well-placed hit with his sticks. But then Red Hood was blocking his next moves and the escrima sticks rattled to the ground.
Hood started raining blows on Nightwing. Each punch fell like a brick. Not only was Red Hood quick on his toes, but he had the strength of a bull.
The fight’s direction brought him back to his escrima sticks. Using them seemed to turn the tide. The sticks hummed as electricity shot through Hood’s torso, forcing him backwards. Nightwing moved like liquid, body slipping through the motions with practiced ease. His sticks caught Hood’s mask and split it open.
Red Hood stumbled away, holding his face.
“Sorry about your mask, buddy,” Nightwing teased. He flipped an escrima stick in his hand. Red Hood had put up a good fight, but the end of their battle was near and Nightwing would be the victor.
Red Hood straightened up and turned around.
Blood dripped from a wound on his forehead. But that face was one Dick would know anywhere. A face that haunted his nightmares, bringing him back to their last conversation. One that had been fraught with tension and rage. A face that had looked at him with betrayal and desperation before it was gone forever.
Jason Peter Todd.
Dick’s little brother.
The brother who’d been tortured and killed by the Joker two years ago.
He was here. Standing in front of Nightwing with a smug look on his face.
“Jason?” Dick said breathlessly. His escrima sticks fell from numb fingertips.
“What’s wrong? Look like you seen a ghost,” Jason Todd snarked. That was Jason’s voice. That was Jason’s face. That was Jason’s sass and attitude.
The world took on a strange dreamlike quality. This had to be a dream. Or a nightmare. Something other than reality. Because if this was real, then Dick had failed his brother in more ways than one.
Jason Todd approached, his shoulders tense. He looked ready to fight. Dick wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to fight Jason, not again. He didn’t want his interaction to be like their last.
“Wait!” he cried out.
He went unheard. Jason’s fist connected with his chest shoving him into the wall. Punches snapped his head back and forth.
“Jay, please!” Dick’s voice broke. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but all the fight had drained out of his body the moment he saw Jason’s face. Part of him clamored to embrace his brother; the other screamed that Jason was deadly; and a small, tiny part of his brain thought that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to die at Jason’s hands.
Jason retreated, and Dick let in the hope that he would stop fighting, that they could talk for a moment.
He heard the rattle of metal sliding across the ground.
He heard the whisper of footsteps crossing the concrete floor of the parking garage.
Dick didn’t have time to react.
The sword was coming for his gut.
He watched it approach like a slow-motion train wreck. His abs contracted in anticipation of the pain.
It should have connected.
Dick was shoved to the side violently, and he hit the ground hard on his shoulder. A loud grunt echoed around them.
Dick looked up to see Jason standing there, hand on the hilt of the sword sticking into Robin’s stomach.
Jason hadn’t intended on showing his face to any of the bats yet. But of course, Dickface had to go and ruin that.
Seeing the haunted look on Dick’s face had settled something deep within his chest. A wash of emotions ran through him. Satisfaction and anger in equal parts. Satisfied to see Dick look so gutted. Anger for all the things that had happened to him, for his big brother’s refusal to stop the Joker from hurting anyone else after Jason.
A small hidden streak of sadness and desperation wound its way into his storm of emotions. It was so tempting to run into his brother’s arms and never let go. To let Dick take care of him like he used to do all those years ago. But there was no going back. Jason had crossed more lines tonight than Dick could ever forgive. Jason was not the Jason that Dick knew. He came back, but he came back crooked and wrong.
His fists rained down on Dick without pausing to listen to the protests. Listening would lead to breaking. Jason couldn’t do that, not when he’d come this far.
He stepped away and grabbed his sword, letting the metal rattle along the ground.
Dick was a good fighter and a smart man. Nightwing was a variable that needed to be taken out of the equation before it unbalanced all of Jason’s careful planning.
He stepped forward and aimed the sword for Nightwing’s stomach with the precision of a surgeon. The blade would avoid all major organs and arteries. The wound would put him out of commission for a while, but not kill him.
Except Jason, in the haze of battle, hadn’t heard a silent bird creeping up on them.
One second, the shining metal was slicing through the air towards a blue-and-black suit; the next it was piercing red-and-green. Robin was on the end of his sword.
Robin clutched at Jason’s shoulders. Jason hadn’t had time to process his interruption or to plan where the weapon would land. It might have hit anything in the kid.
All Jason could do was stare in growing horror.
“No, no, no!” he muttered. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Robin was supposed to be upstairs still. Jason had hurt him enough to keep him there for a few more minutes at least. Why did he do that? Why did he get in between Nightwing and the sword?
Robin faltered, and Jason quickly grabbed him and set him on the ground. Falling would exacerbate the injury.
“Heh. Couldn’t let you engage in fratricide. ‘s kinda counter… counterintuitive, ya know?” Robin said, his voice shaky. He coughed, blood flecking his lips. Jason panicked more. He’d hit something bad. Something that required real medical expertise to fix.
Nightwing materialized beside them. Nightwing didn’t panic; he took stock of the situation and took charge. “Ok, Robin, you’re badly injured. We gotta get you to the cave now,” Nightwing said calmly.
“We?” Jason said, snapping back to himself a little. He started to step away, but Robin made a low whine in the back of his throat, and he gripped tighter to Jason’s jacket. Jason couldn’t bring himself to remove Robin’s hands and escape.
“Batman and Agent A aren’t around,” Robin said with a little cough. “Nightwing can’t do this alone. I think… I think you hit something important. You have to help me. You came back to life, but I don’t think I will.”
The words fell like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. That was a low blow, but this was Robin we were talking about. Robins utilized every tool in the box, even psychological warfare.
“You’re not giving me many options here, baby bird,” Jason said.
Robin tilted his head so that he was staring up at Jason through his lashes. His big blue puppy-dog eyes widened, and they shined with unshed tears. Holy shit, Dick must’ve taught this kid well, because dammit it was working.
Jason found himself wavering.
This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t the plan at all. Robin was taking a battering ram to whatever remained of Jason’s plan.
No, stay strong.
Black Mask was sitting against the wall, alive and in possession of Jason’s identity. Black Mask was planning to meet Deathstroke in a day to finalize details on the hit out for Joker. There were things that needed to be accomplished, and going to the Batcave to care for Robin was going to ruin all those things.
Before he could say a single word, Robin took his puppy-dog look a step further. His lower lip, flecked with blood, trembled, and he let out a low whimper.
Fuck! “Fine. I can’t have another Robin dying in this damn suit,” Jason grunted.
“Wing, can you get the car?” Robin asked. It appeared he wasn’t willing to let go of Jason just yet. That was pretty fair. There was a good chance that he would hightail it out of there if Robin let go for even a second.
Robin forced Jason to help him hobble to the Batmobile once Dick had called it and gotten behind the wheel.
The sword had skewered Tim’s spleen. Jason and Dick had hurried the kid to the Batcave. They’d done what they could, but the severity of the injuries required a call to Leslie.
Leslie had been shocked to see Jason’s face, but with a patient that required her immediate attention, she quickly got over her surprise and put both ex-Robins to work. Several hours were spent hurrying back and forth, grabbing surgical tools and making sure Tim’s IV and anesthesia were in order.
By the time Robin was stable and the surgical site was stitched up, dawn had arrived.
Jason and Dick settled into a seating area outside the medbay. Leslie left to get some sleep before she had to go back to her clinic.
“Soooo… you’re alive,” Dick huffed. Dick looked older. The eyebags were darker, and his shoulders were slouched with a weight that hadn’t been on them when Jason was Robin.
“Yup,” Jason said, popping the p. What else was there to say? He was dead, and now he wasn’t.
“Can I ask how?”
Jason sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. “League of Assassins. Talia Al Ghul dug me up and dunked me in the Lazarus pit.” Dick flinched at the bluntness which made Jason smile wickedly.
“Do you know why?”
“Why they brought me back? Aside from vague talks about threatening B or whatever, not really.” That was the sticking point, wasn’t it? Jason didn’t know why the League had chosen to dig him up and resurrect him. From the single cryptic speech he heard from Ra’s, it didn’t seem to be about Jason at all.
Ra’s was obsessed with Bruce and with making Batman take on the mantel of Demon’s head. Thus far, Bruce had refused and kept the League mostly out of Gotham. With Jason as a pawn, Ra’s might be hoping to coerce Bruce into accepting the role.
Jason tried not to think about it too hard. He’d been a pawn to Joker. Tortured and killed as a way to hurt Batman. He didn’t want to think about his resurrection being used as a way to manipulate Batman, too. He was sick and tired of being a pawn in other people’s games.
He should have been used to it. Joker wasn’t the first to kidnap or harm Robin in an attempt to lure Batman into a trap. Joker was the first successful one.
Jason was tired of his existence being passed over and ignored by everyone, until they needed to use him as a conduit to Batman’s heartstrings.
“I’m so sorry, Little Wing,” Dick said. His brows were pulled together in a familiar look of regret. Jason’s heart panged at the nickname. It’d been so long since he heard it. He took that feeling and shoved it way, way, way down.
“For what? You didn’t torture and kill me, Dick. You didn’t dig me up and drag my ass back from hell,” Jason snapped. His patience wore thin, and he was absolutely not in the mood to deal with the huge guilt-complexes that the bats loved to adopt.
“No, but I’m sorry those things happened to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. I’m sorry you never got to be the kid you should have been.”
Jason scoffed and turned away from his brother. His wandering eyes fixed on a costume pod that hadn’t been in the cave before. He could only see the back side of it, but he assumed that it normally held the new Robin’s suit.
The armchair he was occupying shifted as Dick perched on the armrest.
“Jason,” Dick said, his voice breaking. “Jason, I love you so much. I- I can’t believe you’re really here.”
His hands hovered uncertainly over Jason’s shoulders as Dickface clearly was trying to hold back his cuddle-urges.
Jason rolled his eyes and leaned his head into one of the hovering hands. It carded instantly through his sweaty hair. Jason would rather pull the pin on a grenade and destroy them both than ever admit it, but he really missed having Dick comfort him. Talia had tried her best, but she was in no way, shape, or form the type for physical contact. Jason hadn’t realized quite how much he missed it until he was melting into the touch, despite himself.
“I missed you, Little Wing. I’m sorry for everything you went through, but I’m really happy to have you here,” Dick whispered. His other hand wound around Jason’s tense shoulders and pulled him into an awkward side-hug.
“Yeah, yeah, asshole,” Jason fussed, but his words held no bite in them. Dick hummed in acknowledgement.
It was nice, sitting here with his big brother.
It had been so long since Jason was somewhere safe. With someone safe.
His chest constricted even as his heart felt lighter than it had in years.
“Oh, come here, Little Wing,” Dick cooed. Any other time, Jason might have started a screaming match, but right now he was nothing but Dick’s little brother, being manhandled around so that he was curled up in Dick’s lap. The dip in the pits along with the League training had built out Jason’s physique. He didn’t fit against his big brother like he used to.
The size difference was almost comical, but Jason felt safe here, held in the strong arms of his big brother, even if they couldn’t reach around him with the same ease that they used to.
After the mushy, mushy feelings were out of the way, it was time to get back to business. Robin was stable and recuperating. Jason left Dick to watch over the reckless kid and made his way to the BatJail where Black Mask was currently being held.
He went inside, letting the door click shut behind him. Black Mask sat in the corner, roughed up, not moving much. Jason was pretty sure he broke some of the guy’s ribs earlier. He slowly took the couple steps to close the distance and dropped into a crouch, eyes ripping apart the captive in a way that Jason learned from Batman’s interrogation lessons (loathe as he was to admit the man was good at intimidation and interrogation).
“Alright, that took longer than expected, but I’m back now. Where did we leave off? Oh, right, you were telling me about your meeting with Deathstroke.”
Jason tilted his head to the side and waited. And waited.
Black Mask scoffed and shook his head. “You’re weak.”
Jason rocked back on his heels and laughed. “Weak? Really, you do understand you’re saying that to a man who single-handedly took down two of your bases tonight and kicked your ass? If I’m weak, then what are you?”
The mask was hiding facial expressions, but Jason felt the hateful glare coming from his interrogatee.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot. I want Joker gone. You want Joker gone. Tell me the details of your meeting with Deathstroke, and then that psycho clown is out of our lives forever.”
“…”
Jason’s temper was short. He grabbed Sionis’ bloodied lapels and shook him, making sure to jostle any broken ribs. “I’m. Not. Going. To ask. Again. You either tell me, or I find out over your dead body.”
Sionis grabbed at his wrists, but it was clear the feared gangster wasn’t as skilled at hand-to-hand as many of his goons. It must have been the guns alone that kept him in his place at the top. How pathetic.
“Fine, I’ll tell you. But you have to swear that you’re going to get rid of the Joker. The clown has had too many chances.”
“There’s nothing I want more than to listen to his dying screams.” Jason meant every word. He’d dreamed of watching the light leave Joker’s eyes, of seeing the insanity go dim. Joker had ruined so many good things in this world, in this city, and he never faced any real consequences. Well, death was the great equalizer, and it was time he became acquainted with it.
It was fitting, no? For a murdered man to come back and kill his killer?
“Daggett Industries. 11PM.”
Jason nodded. He patted Black Mask’s head like one would a dog. Sadly, this dog doesn’t live.
There’s a choked gasp as Jason removes the League sword from Black Mask’s throat. Without a care for the blood spilling everywhere, he reached out and removed the helmet. Sionis’ face was burned and ruined from Joker’s acid. Once, Jason might have felt pity for his plight. Unfortunately, Joker killed that Jason two years ago.
“Thank you, Sionis. You’ve been a great help to me. I’ll take on the crusade against Joker from here,” Jason said.
“Fuck you!” Sionis coughed, blood spilling from his lips.
He left the dying man in the cell.
“Did you get what you wanted?” Dick asked when he approached. When he turned to look at Jason, he did a double take. “Is that blood? Did you kill him?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ!” Dick’s face went through a myriad of emotions before landing on anger. “Why the hell would you do that? We had him in custody! There wasn’t any need to fucking kill him!”
“Tell that to all the people he’s tortured and killed.”
“And now you’re following in his footsteps! Is this what you want to be? A crime lord just as bad as Black Mask? As Falcone? Penguin? Is that what you want?”
Jason narrowed his eyes. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t have any interest in torturing people for fun. And despite whatever it is you’re thinking, I don’t take pleasure in killing, either.”
“Yeah, the piles of dead bodies from tonight are really working in your favor here,” Dick retorted. He was on his feet and looming menacingly over Jason. The problem was that Jason, thanks to the pit, had several inches on his big brother, so the looming wasn’t effective.
“I died, Dick!”
Dick shut up. His face creased with a despair so soulful that it landed like a punch.
“I died, and Joker is still out there. He’s still killing. And torturing. And raping. Your bullshit no-kill rule has gotten people fucking killed. I’m sick of it! I’m not Boy Wonder anymore. I’m not Robin. I’m not fucking magic. I’m a monster who came back wrong.
“Well, I’m sorry, Dick, that I’m not the same boy I used to be, but there are monsters on the streets who laugh while they ruin everything good about this goddamn city. I’m not going to sit around and throw a few punches and hope that knocks sense into minds so devoid of sense they’re bankrupt.
“There’s only one permanent way to keep the monsters of the street. If no one else is going to, then I am.”
Dick collapsed into the chair by Tim’s bedside with a heavy sigh.
“You’re going after Joker, then?” Dick asked.
“Yes. And I’m going to kill him.”
Dick rubbed his hands over his face. He looked exhausted. Jason was the opposite; energy thrummed through his veins. Less than twenty-four hours before meeting Deathstroke and gaining the Joker’s whereabouts. Soon this will all be over. Whatever happened after Joker was dead and gone was Future Jason’s problem. He’ll gladly go back to the grave, so long as Joker was in his own.
“Anyone else on your list, or just Joker?”
“Just Joker. But I won’t hesitate if someone gets in my way.”
Dick glanced over at Robin, who was sleeping in the medbay. Jason followed his gaze and lingered on the kid’s face.
Without the mask, Robin looked so young. On paper, Timothy Drake was a menace, a veritable genius, according to Talia. Looking at him now, he looked like a child. One who put on a ridiculous suit (thankfully with darker colors than the original neon traffic-colors that were his and Dick’s suits) and went out most nights to beat down on criminals twice his age and size.
He could sense Dick questioning his last statement. Jason wouldn’t hesitate if anyone got in his way. But Robin got in his way. Twice. And yet he was still alive.
“No more dead Robins,” Jason said by way of explanation. It was true. He didn’t want to kill Robin. Hearing the news reports and listening to Talia, Timothy Drake reminded him painfully of himself. So idealistic and so full of excitement at being a beloved vigilante.
Wearing the suit made you feel invincible. Until you weren’t.
“He looked up to you, you know,” Dick said. Jason moved to walk out of the medbay. He didn’t want to hear about the replacement. “He followed you and B around on patrol.”
That stopped him in his tracks. “What?”
“Yep. He started back when I was Robin. After you… he came to me. This scrawny thirteen-year-old went all the way to Blud just to tell me that Batman needed me back. Can you believe that?”
Jason found himself sitting on the other side of Tim’s bed listening as Dick talked about the newest Robin. Jason was equal parts appalled at the idea of an untrained civilian child following them into Gotham every night and impressed that he managed to survive that long. Eventually, they became aware of Tim waking up.
“Talkin’ ‘bout ma pi‘chers?” he slurred.
“Yeah, telling Jason about all the times you followed them.”
“Mmmphh. R’bin’s magic. You said’at’ta me.”
“Did I?” Jason asked.
“Gotchu sign shirt,” Tim said. “A’vin.”
Jason was struck with a sudden memory of a tiny child nearly getting caught by some goons after a nasty fight with Mad Hatter. The kid had thanked him profusely with stars in his eyes. Jason had asked what a Bristol kid was doing in the Bowery after midnight, but the kid had dodged all questions with the expertise of a seasoned politician.
When asked, the kid had given the stupidest, fakest name in the world.
“You were Alvin Draper.” Alvin refused to be escorted home, and Jason had offered to sign his shirt in return for being allowed to walk him to the bus station.
“’Member? ‘Member me?” Tim gasped and wiggled like a happy slug. Those painkillers were doing their damn job.
“Yes, I remember you, you weirdo. That was the worst fake name I’d ever heard.”
“Nuh uh. ‘s a good name.” Tim pouted, and Jason chuckled at the sight. What the hell was his life? The little bug-eyed Bristol kid he’d met one time had become Robin and was now recovering from a stab wound Jason gave him.
The smile dropped as the thoughts hit. As much as he would enjoy hanging out here, the Jason he used to be was dead. He was a different person; he was a monster. He’d endangered this kid’s life; he’d nearly killed another Robin. That wasn’t what he had wanted.
“Got sec’et,” Tim stage-whispered.
“A secret? Oh, do tell,” Jason said. He glanced up to see Dick leaning forward in anticipation.
“I ruin ‘im,” Tim said with a creepy giggle.
“Ruin who?”
“Joker, ‘course,” Tim said. He yawned then, eyes fluttering shut. “He killed you.”
“What? What did you do to him? Tim? Tim, wake back up. Don’t leave me hanging like that! Tim! What does ‘ruin Joker’ mean?” Jason gently shook his shoulder but Tim was fast asleep; he wanted to rattle him awake, but it was his fault the kid needed emergency surgery.
“Dick? Do you know what he’s talkin’ about?” The lost expression on Dick’s face was answer enough.
“Everything’s a fucking mess,” Dick moaned.
“When is it not?” Jason retorted. Dick grunted in agreement. “Don’t do that. You sound like B when you do.”
“Eww, don’t ever say that to me again. B could never be this cool and sexy.” The well-rehearsed joke that they’d traded back when Jason used to be Robin fell flat to their ears.
They watched the sleeping Robin for a few minutes in tense silence.
“What’s the plan?” Dick asked.
“Kill Joker.”
“Before that, dumbass. What’s the plan with Black Mask? What did you learn?”
“Black Mask was going to hire Deathstroke to find and kill Joker. They’re set to meet tonight, but seeing that Sionis is dead–“ Dick scoffed at the flippant remark. “–I’ll go in his place. Deathstroke knows where the bastard is.”
“Where’s the meet?”
Jason didn’t answer. He didn’t need Nightwing interfering with this anymore than he already had. His plans had been derailed enough!
“Jay, I just want to help.”
“Help stop me from becoming more of a monster than I already am?”
Dick’s sigh was long-suffering. It satisfied Jason’s annoying little brotherisms.
“I’ve got things to do and preparations to make, so excuse me,” Jason said. He slipped out of the medbay on silent feet. Dick yelped and shot to his feet to go after him, but thankfully the loud noise woke the baby bird.
“Dick? Leavin’ me?” Tim cried out.
Jason was treated to Dick’s harried promises that he wasn’t leaving, as he made a swift exit. He had many things to do, including finding a fuckin’ suit. Why the hell did Sionis do work in an actual suit? They were so uncomfortable; what was the point of being a crime lord if you couldn’t do it in actual comfortable clothes?
When (if) Jason became a crime lord, he would be doing so in comfortable, armored clothes; not a tux like some sort of Wall Street wannabe.
Jason had no idea how the hell Dick found out where the meet-up with Deathstroke was. One moment, he was getting his shit absolutely rocked by this god-killing assassin (apparently, what the hell, Talia? That would have been nice to know!) and the next moment, Nightwing appeared in all his blue-and-black glory and targeting the electrified ends of his escrima sticks at Deathstroke’s back.
“Fancy seeing you here, Slade,” Nightwing taunted.
“I wish I could say the same of you, Boy Wonder.” Deathstroke dealt heavy blows, that were only barely deflected with Nightwing’s natural affinity for moving like water.
Jason managed to get his feet back under him. Spots danced in his vision, curtesy of having his head slammed into a metal pole.
Nightwing and Jason fought, trading blows with Deathstroke in a flurry of movement. Nightwing slithered under Deathstroke’s defenses, windows of opportunity opened by Jason’s aggressive approach, and dealt some good hits.
In the end, the two of them weren’t enough.
Nightwing was thrown across the room. Jason crashed to the ground after a heavy blow to his shoulder. He looked up in time to see Deathstroke’s blade sinking towards him.
“Wait!” Nightwing cried out. The sword paused in its descent, but it was no less deadly for the lack of movement. In fact, it was somehow more menacing, poised as it was above Jason’s exposed throat.
“You came here to make a deal. If not with Black Mask, then why not with us? Tell us where the Joker is, and we’ll go and deal with him. Nice easy paycheck for you. You don’t have to do the work, but you’ll still get paid.”
Deathstroke turned to face Nightwing, but the sword did not waver.
“Since when do the bats play dirty?”
“Do you want to the money or not?”
Deathstroke chuckled, but he tossed a burner phone down to Jason. The sword disappeared. “20 million dollars. Wire the money to the account on here. Then, and only then, will I reveal Joker’s location.”
Then in a blink, Deathstroke was gone, leaving nothing behind but carnage.
Nightwing helped Jason to his feet. The room swirled as he tried to take a step on his own. Frustration welled up in him as his brother stopped him from faceplanting.
“I’m fine,” Jason gritted out. He needed to figure out how to access Black Mask’s bank accounts to send the sum.
“No, you’re not. Come back to the Batcave and get patched up,” Nightwing said. Jason opened his mouth to tell Nightwing where he could shove it, when the man continued on, “Robin is awake, and he wants to see you.”
Jason’s jaw shut with an audible click. He didn’t want to go back to the cave. It had been bad enough to be there once, surrounded by all that was familiar and all that was unfamiliar. The rows of old suits, the garage smelling of grease and rubber, the squeak of bats in the eaves. The weird shrine for Jason after his death; the BatComputer bigger than the last he’d seen it; the new Batman suit he’d spied.
It had rankled his nerves being in that space that felt so much like home, and yet would never again be his home. He felt like Bilbo from The Hobbit, returning to a place that used to fill his every moment had become a husk of memory. The resurrection had irrevocably changed something within him.
And yet.
Robin deserved closure. He deserved to get even with the man who nearly killed him. It was what Jason would have wanted if their places were switched. Besides, it’s not like there were many other options.
Where else could he get the twenty million dollars, if not from Bruce Wayne’s own accounts?
Dick was right. Tim was awake and out of bed when they got back. He was leaning slightly against an IV pole and panting.
“Whoa, are you sure you can be up, Robin?” Jason shot out. He fought the urge to reach out and put the kid back into the medical cot.
“Get your ass back in bed, Tim,” Dick said. Tim straightened his spine; nose lifted in the air petulantly.
“I’m perfectly fine. I always had a feeling I’d lose my spleen. I’ve got contingency plans for this,” Tim stated, as if that made perfect sense.
“Contingency plans? The hell you talkin’ about? What are you, Bruce? Jesus Christ, kid, having a contingency plan doesn’t automatically make you recovered.”
“Whatever. I made sandwiches,” Tim said. He waved a hand over to a plate of sandwiches on the BatDesk.
Dick inhaled sharply. “You’re telling me, that in the ten minutes I was gone, you went up the stairs. To the kitchen. Made sandwiches, and CAME BACK DOWN?”
“You were gone a lot longer than ten minutes; it took me that long to walk down the hall. Besides, I didn’t use the stairs. I’m not stupid, Dick. We have an elevator now? Remember? For Babs?”
Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Doesn’t make it better.”
“Did you get what you needed from Deathstroke?”
“What?” Jason asked. He felt like he was three steps behind this conversation. “How did you know about Deathstroke?”
“Well, Dick was freaking out when he couldn’t find you. It was easy enough to get your location with the helmet–” Tim nodded towards the mask under Jason’s arm. “–and I told him where you were. Most warehouses have security cameras in them, but Deathstroke is smart. He wouldn’t use a meeting place that had eyes. Unluckily for him, Oracle and I have eyes everywhere. Even in places the city’s CCTV doesn’t reach.”
That was super creepy.
“I tuned into the show to watch you get your asses kicked.” Tim smirked at them as if to say that if he’d been there, Deathstroke would have gone running with his tail between his legs.
“Riiiight. Who’s Oracle?”
Tim blinked and Dick whipped around to look at him. Jason shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny.
“You don’t know?”
“Know what? Who’s Oracle? The League didn’t mention anything about an Oracle.”
“The League?” Tim asked.
Holy Miscommunication Batman!
Jason 100% trusted that that had been said fully in his own mind. But then Tim started laughing hysterically and clutching at his wounded side and begging Jason not to make him laugh.
“Holy Miscommunication Batman!” Dick mocked before crowing. Jason cuffed him in the head.
Eventually they settled down. Tim agreed to get back in bed, so long as they ate their sandwiches and sat with him. How the hell did Tim know Jason’s favorite sandwich? He wanted to ask, but at this point he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
He settled for listening to Tim talk about Oracle. Barbara Gordon, in the time that Jason had disappeared and been dead, had taken the opportunity to create a new identity. One steeped in Greek mythos, as she became the all-seeing eyes of Gotham. Jason fully approved of the dramatic name. It was so much better than ‘Robin’ or ‘Batman.’
In return, Jason told him a little about the League of Assassins.
The entire time they were chatting, Jason was storming up ways to sneak onto the BatComputer, access Bruce’s bank account, and send the funds to Deathstroke.
The moment came when the plate of sandwiches held nothing but crumbs and the conversation had petered out into nonsensical hypotheticals. Obviously, a hundred Americans would win against a hundred Brits. Seeing the insanity of Gotham, he was convinced a dozen average Gothamites could take on an army of Brits without casualties.
“Someone should clean this mess up before it attracts the rats. Alfie might tolerate the bats, but he will not hesitate to slaughter you if you attract their wingless counterparts,” Jason said, gesturing at the plate and empty water cups.
“You do it, then, asshole,” Dick said.
“I’ll tolerate the cave, but no way in hell am I going up to the Manor,” Jason bit back.
“I’ll take it,” Tim offered quietly. Dick and Jason said No at the same time in a strange moment of older-brother unity. Who knew all it took to get them to agree on something was to add a younger brother to the mix?
“Fine!” Dick lazily got to his feet and swept up all the dishes. He whined wordlessly the entire time until the clock door closed behind him and left only Jason and Tim in silence.
Jason side-eyed the kid.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Tim fussed, crossing his arms. “How much were you supposed to give Deathstroke? His voice modulator made it hard to make out everything on the video.”
“Aren’t you mad that I stabbed you?”
“No? I basically jumped on your blade,” Tim dismissed.
“Why did you do that? Dick would have been fine if you hadn’t jumped in. I wasn’t aiming anywhere fatal.”
“I didn’t know that! From my angle, it looked really bad, and I didn’t want B to lose another son. How much was Deathstroke asking for?”
“Timbo, what the hell does that mean? You could have died. You lost an important organ. You have every right to hate my guts and break my nose. And I’m sure B would be absolutely devastated if he lost you, just as much as he would be if he lost goldie.”
“How much for Deathstroke? Answer me or I smash this,” Tim said. He held up the burner phone and waved it around exasperatedly. Jason immediately patted the pocket he’d put that phone in, only to find it empty. He stared at the thieving baby bird.
“Oh, stop being dramatic. We all know why you’re really here. Mask is dead in his cell, he’s not getting money anywhere anytime soon.” Tim tapped on the phone, hooking it up to the BatComputer wirelessly. “Last chance, how much?”
This wasn’t a conversation Jason was going to win.
“Twenty mil,” Jason said. He scooted closer to watch over the kid’s shoulder. The wire transfer for twenty million dollars was initiated. Then the kid did something extra and renamed the transfer to “Wayne Family Foundation Charitable Account.”
“So Bruce doesn’t question it,” Tim explained.
“You aren’t planning to tell Bruce?”
“I asked Dick earlier if we should tell him about you, but he said we shouldn’t because he’s awful with emotions. Do you want us to tell him?”
“No, I– No, you’re right, I don’t want to tell him.”
Tim nodded.
“Want any cash while we’re here? Don’t worry about Dick. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, just like it won’t hurt Bruce. One million?”
“…”
“Fine, five mil then, sound good? Have you got a bank account to use?”
At Jason’s stunned silence, Tim sighed.
He tapped more things out and then handed back the phone. “I made you an overseas bank account and wired the money to it. I’d suggest you make another account and transfer the money over and close this one, because I mean, I did make it, so I can always go back in and take it away if you piss me off.
“Well, if you piss me off enough, I don’t think having an extra account will fix anything for you. I’ll just find it and steal your money anyways… But to keep Bruce out, I’d still suggest it.”
“You don’t care about stealing from Bruce?”
“Why should I?”
Jason could not believe his ears. Robin was more than willing to dish out millions of Bruce Wayne’s money for no reason? Sure, Jason had been planning on stealing it anyways, but that was a separate matter. Jason was a fuckin’ criminal now, and theft was basically par for the course. But Robin?
“Because Bruce is Batman, and doing crime on Mr. I’m Vengeance himself is heavily frowned upon?”
“You literally beat him with a tire iron when you first met him.”
“I only hit him once! And it was in self-defense. What the hell else is a street kid supposed to do when some weirdo in a bat suit rolls up on you?”
“You stole the Batmobile tires, and he caught you! I hardly count that as a weirdo in a bat suit ‘rolling up’ on you!”
“Regardless, that was a one-off thing, and you know it. The stalking you did wasn’t. You stalked us for years! Last I checked, that’s illegal.”
“Only if you have proof!”
“You took photos, dumbass.”
Tim widened his eyes and squinted around the room, hand on his head in a searching gesture. “And where exactly are those photos? I don’t see any.”
“You’re an insufferable brat.”
“And you’re an undead piece of shit.”
They glared at each other. Jason looked away first, shaking his head at this idiot’s antics. Damn, this kid was a fuckin’ riot.
“What did you mean, by the way, when you said you ruined Joker?”
Tim’s shoulders tensed up. “What are you talking about?”
“When you were hopped up in the good stuff, you were talking about how you ruined Joker. What did that mean?”
“No idea.” “Tim.”
Tim started picking at the edge of his blanket. “You went missing for months. Batman and Nightwing tore apart the city looking for you. No one knew what had happened, only that Robin was gone. There were whispers that it was Falcone or Two Face, and I assumed the same.
“But then Batman started targeting all of Joker’s old haunts, and I knew that that was who had taken you. I started digging myself, trying to track old CCTV feeds, but the problem is that CCTV gets automatically deleted after a couple months, so I didn’t have a ton to go on.”
Dick returned. He silently slipped back into his seat, listening intently to Tim’s story. Jason raised an eyebrow because Dick was sopping wet and covered in white suds.
Jason was desperate to make fun of him, but he had a gut feeling if he didn’t let Tim finish his story now, he’d never hear it again.
“Whoa, what happened to you? Fought with a bubble monster?” Tim teased. The joke landed on its face.
“Finish your story, baby bird.” Jason prompted when Tim didn’t say anything more.
“What was I saying?”
“CCTV and shit.”
“Right, I didn’t find you. No one did until Joker sent the coordinates for your body. All those nights of following you around, and the one night that it mattered. The one night I could have made a difference, and I wasn’t there. I didn’t even have a good reason not to go out; I just didn’t but if I had, then maybe you wouldn’t have died. Maybe they could have–”
“Tim, Tim, whoa, slow down,” Jason said. He moved to the bedside and grabbed at Tim’s hands which were clenched in tight fists. “It’s not your fault. None of that was. You being there, you not being there, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t your fault, or Dick’s fault, or Bruce’s fault. If I hadn’t have gone after that psycho in the first place…”
This conversation was not at all what Jason had been expecting. It burned fierce in his chest that this kid, that Jason had only met once before, had been carrying this guilt for so many years over something that wasn’t his fault.
“No!” Dick butt in. He climbed on the other side of the bed and wrapped his sudsy octopus arms around the two of them. He tugged and pulled until they were all settled into a group hug, with the baby bird nestled between them. “It wasn’t your fault either, Jay. If it wasn’t mine or Bruce’s, it sure as hell wasn’t yours either. There’s only one person at fault, and it’s Joker. It’s all Joker’s fault.”
Jason had always known that his kidnapping, his torture, his death had all been because of his own recklessness and stupidity. Joker wasn’t to be underestimated, but Jason had done just that. Jason had sought out Joker that night. Jason had lost that fight and let himself get captured without whistling for help or activating his emergency beacon. Jason had let… he’d let...
“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t,” Dick repeated like a mantra to the both of them. Jason’s chest constricted as he struggled to hold back the torrent of emotions hiding there.
No! It had to be Jason’s fault. Yes, Joker’s, too. But it was mostly Jason’s fault for being so weak, so helpless, so stupid. If it wasn’t his fault… Jason was going to break. He was going to shatter into a million tiny pieces, and not even the Lazarus Pit would be able to put him back together.
“Joker is the only one to blame,” Dick said gently. He said it in that no-nonsense big-brother tone. The type he reserved for the days Jason fucked up something and Dick swore that nothing bad was going to happen to him.
No one’s mad you broke that vase, Jay, stop throwing things at us. You’re not getting kicked out.
Alfred’s just upset about the roaches in the closet, but don’t worry, you can keep your box of food. I already talked to them about it. You’re safe here, Jay. I’ve got your back, alright?
We’re brothers now, which means I have your back and you have mine. No takesies backsies.
He’s using that exact tone of voice now. “I love you both so much. Neither of you were to blame for anything that happened. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.”
That feeling was rising in Jason’s chest, and he was doing his damndest to push it back down, back down in its place.
Then Tim shifted to hug Jason. Tim put his ear to Jason’s chest to hear the heartbeat. Tim shook and trembled, and Jason realized he was crying. Tim was crying. Tim was crying because of Jason, because of Joker, because of everything that had happened.
That broke the dam.
Every ugly emotion came rushing out at once. His fingers dug deep into whatever material they were tangled in. The sobs wrenched from him were soul-deep, his entire body constricting as every minute of pain and terror and helplessness hurtled out of him. He’d buried it so deep inside, locked it in a box that no one could find.
He’d waited so long to be saved. He’d endured so many horrific things, things he never wanted to say aloud. Shameful things that made him want to rip all his skin off. Jason had held on as long as he could, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. Joker had broken him so completely, and then he’d burned him alive. Laughing the entire time. The bastard had laughed and laughed and laughed.
Minutes or hours passed. The sobs calmed down on their own. Dick’s hand carded through his sweaty hair in a soothing back-and-forth. Tim was curled in Jason’s lap, arms wrapped in a constricting band around Jason’s torso, looking like he never wanted to let go. Jason tilted his head to fall on Dick’s shoulder.
He sat and sniffled for a long time. His body was exhausted; he’d wrung out every emotion until he was dry. Jason couldn’t summon up more tears if he wanted to. He was a dry well.
Tim’s hair was ticking his chin, so he reached and smoothed down the errant locks. Timmy practically melted against him at the motion. Jason understood. Dick petting his hair was working wonders at the moment, so he sat and petted his little brother.
Dick shifted, removing the hand from Jason’s hair. An embarrassing noise left his throat, making Dick chuckle.
“Sorry, Little Wing. I think you both need some fluids in you after all those tears,” Dick said gently. He pulled some electrolyte drinks from the cooler stationed in the medbay.
It was quiet as the three of them replenished their energy. There was a wet spot on Jason’s shirt; and a wet patch on Dick’s shoulder (though it was hidden because the rest of his shirt was soaked too). Dick’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.
“Movie?” Dick suggested. Tim and Jason hummed in agreement. Dick could have suggested jumping into one of the bottomless pits in the cave, and they probably would have hummed in agreement.
“Why’d you come back soakin’ wet, Dickface?” Jason croaked. The bubbles had all died down but Jason wasn’t going to forget seeing him look like he took a dive in a bubble bath.
“Someone ran the dishes earlier and put too much detergent in the washer. The kitchen was filled with bubbles. I had to battle my way to the window to open it and get them out. They’re probably still airing out as we speak”
Jason snorted and he looked down to see Tim’s ears turning red.
“Whoops,” Tim said.
“You’re both helpless in the kitchen, huh? Alfie’s gonna be so pissed.”
“Dick tried to make smoothies the other day and forgot the top on the blender!” Tim snitched. Dick gasped in mock offense.
“Dick also bubbled Alfie’s kitchen back in the day. Asshole tried to blame it on me, as if I don’t know how to run a dishwasher,” Jason said.
Dick gasped again, hand to his chest with extra exaggerated offense.
“Hated and accused by my little brothers. How this world does hate me so!”
“It would be more impressive if you knew any Shakespeare monologues,” Jason said.
“Not everyone is a book nerd, Jay.”
“I know. You’re not cool enough to be a book nerd, and for that, we’re watching Pride and Prejudice, 2005.”
“Can we watch Clueless instead?” Tim asked. “Isn’t it based on Pride and Prejudice?”
“As if! It’s actually based on Emma, which is also by Austen, so close enough, baby bird. Clueless, it is, pull it up, Dickface.”
Dick pulled up the laptop and started the movie. When they got to Cher fighting with Tai over Paul Rudd, Jason was hit with the realization that he still didn’t know what Tim had done to ‘ruin’ Joker.
He paused the movie and asked.
Tim raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “I went to Harley Quinn and showed her proof that Joker didn’t care about her. She broke it off with Joker, and now she’s dating Ivy. Then I found a bunch of Joker’s loyal goons and got them all arrested and sent to out-of-state penitentiaries, so if he ever got out of jail, he’d be without his most loyal followers. Then, I made this really long plan, involving territory disputes and endangered flora, that boiled down to tricking a bunch of mobsters into blowing up Amusement Mile and making Poison Ivy take control of what was left to make a children’s park.”
Jason and Dick were speechless.
“That’s why Harley and Ivy started dating? And why they bought Amusement Mile and fixed it up as a date?” Dick asked, jaw dropped to the floor.
“You did all that because of me?” Jason asked.
Tim nodded his head, not looking either of them in the eye. “Robin was magic. Joker took that away, and I decided to get even. Sorta.”
“Huh.” That was a lot to process all at once. Jason was too emotionally wrung out and tired to get his brain to think.
“Let’s finish the movie. This is tomorrow’s problem.” Dick seemed to agree since he started the movie up again.